by Anne Hampson
'Certainly, miss.' The Land-Rover scarcely slowed down; it was almost immediately lost to view round another bend in the road.
Morag's eyes followed until it was out of sight, her lips drawn back in a snarl. 'That insolent man will hear from me later !' Without a glance at Gail she strode away, down the hill and along the path towards the house.
Gail followed slowly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. What was to become of the girl? Her insolence to everyone at home, her type of friends, her way of life-- Gail had tried hard and had she made the smallest degree of headway she would have per-severed, but Gail had already admitted defeat where Morag was concerned.
How Andrew must be suffering. To have a child turn out as Morag was doing must cause an ever-pre-sent concern. Gail brought the girl's face into her mental vision. Not a single line to stamp her as Andrew's daughter. But quite often children differed in looks from their parents, so there was nothing definite on which to base the idea that Andrew was not her father.
On reaching the house Gail heard raised voices coming from the sitting-room and she stood for a moment, listening. 'I'll speak to Sinclair in any way I like 1 ' Morag was shouting. 'He's only a servant and should know his place!'
'You'll treat the servants with the same respect they extend to you 'They never treat me with respect 'Don't interrupt when I'm speaking!' Andrew's voice rasped, harsh and threatening. 'Take care, Morag, because I'm just about ready to send you away.' A derisive laugh rang out. 'Where to? A boarding school? I've got myself expelled from two already and it wouldn't take me long to do the same again. I'm not being imprisoned, not for you or anyone else. Is it your platonic, upstart little wife who wants me out of the way ?'The voice was quietened abruptly and, wincing as if it were she her-self who had been struck, Gail opened the door. 'Andrew-please ' She stopped, almost cowering under his wrathful, astounded gaze. Morag had a hand to her face, but the red marks of Andrew's fingers were not entirely covered. 'Can-can I speak to Morag?'
'Get out!' he thundered. 'Get out and mind your own business!' Trembling from head to foot, Gail made her way upstairs. She had realized her mistake even as her first words were uttered. Strong as was his personality Andrew could do nothing with Morag; the bitter humiliation resulting from this was to be suffered in secret and that anyone else should witness it must assuredly infuriate him. And that he was infuriated with her Gail very soon discovered. A few minutes later her door was flung wide open anti he strode into the room, his face dark with anger, his eyes glinting like points of blue ice as he fixed his gaze upon her.
'Andrew,' she faltered, involuntarily stepping back, 'I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have interfered, but …'
'Don't you ever dare do so again.' His voice was like the flick of a whip. 'When I require your help or advice I'll ask for it. Until then-know your place, and keep it!'
'Yes ... I'm sorry,' she said again, her voice low and unsteady. 'I just thought-thought I might b-be able to help.'
'As I've said, when I need your help I'll ask for it. Have I made myself clear?' Gail nodded unhappily, but no words left her lips. She caught sight of herself in the mirror; her face was as white as her blouse.
The door closed and she sank down on the bed, a hand to her heart. It raced uncomfortably and she leant back against the pillows, pushing her hair from her clammy brow. She felt the scar, knew it would be livid and raised, as it always was if she happened to be under the influence of some strong emotion. Her mind was naturally occupied with the scene just enacted. This almost savage being was her husband, the man she had consented to marry only a few days after their first meeting. Eagerly and optimistically she had made vows and promises without any contemplation of future difficulties or regrets. But now Gail wondered if she could go on like this for the rest of her life. The coldness of her husband, the hatred of Morag and open hostility of her grandmother, the withdrawal of Shena.... If she must leave it were better to do it now But no, she could not subject Andrew to any further humiliation. Besides, Robbie loved her, and needed her.
She would not accept defeat so easily; she would stay, and do the work she intended doing. Robbie would make life bearable for her, and even Shena would come round in the end, for she was neither naughty nor in-tractable. Gail felt that sooner or later the child would respond to patience and love.
Rising after a while, Gail brushed her hair back into place. There was a little time before she had to pick up the children from school and she went into Pitlochry to do some shopping, taking the small car standing beside the Mercedes and the more modest runabout which Sinclair often used. She bought herself a sweater and a fine tweed skirt. Spring flowers in a shop window tempted her and she bought herself a large bunch, which she put on the seat beside her, and as she repeatedly glanced at them on her way to school her spirits lightened. Flowers had always done something for her and with flowers in a room she could never be really unhappy.
The children bounded out of school and got into the back seat of the car. 'Look what I've made!' Robbie displayed his Easter card with pride. 'I've written on it "For.-Mummy and Daddy". The teacher told me to.'
'That's lovely.' Warmth enveloped her as she took the card and examined it, reading the neatly written words inside. 'Have you not made one, Shena?' 'Mine isn't finished,' replied Shena quietly. 'The paint wasn't dry, so we had to leave them.'
'She puts too much paint on, that's why,' said Robbie. 'I used to do that when I was small. All the babies use too much paint.'
'I'm not a baby!'
'You're in the babies' class, so you must be.'
'Shena is in the first class, Robbie,' said Gail in gentle tones as she started up the car. 'But she is not a baby.' 'I'm six in a little while.'
'A long while,' argued Robbie. 'Your birthday's in July, and that's not till we break up for our summer holiday.' Shena fell silent; this unwillingness to argue was not natural in a child of her age and Gail spent the rest of the journey trying to draw her out. She failed, and a frown clouded her brow for a while: But she must be patient. Even Andrew had declared Shena to be difficult. Still clad in her jodhpurs, Morag was sitting on one of the wide steps as Gail drove on to the forecourt and stopped the car. Both children ran off towards the swings on the lawn and Gail took out her parcels. She picked up the flowers-irises and tulips and daffodils-and looked at them for a moment.
'Who bought you those?' demanded Morag pertly as Gail made to pass her on her way into the house. 'I bought them myself.' Stopping, Gail smiled at the girl. 'Would you like some?' Morag's insolent glance flicked Gail from head to foot.
'Don't be so magnanimous. We've three greenhouses full of flowers much better than those ridiculous little blooms.'
'The blooms are not particularly small,' Gail remarked patiently, touching one pink and yellow tulip with loving fingers. 'If they're what you're used to,' Morag shrugged. 'Father wouldn't give them house room. He never tolerates anything inferior.'
'Well, if I don't compare them I shan't consider them inferior, shall I?'
'Compare them with what?' 'The beautiful blooms in the greenhouse, of course.'
The girl threw her another insolent look. 'Someone bought them for you,' she declared, and stood up, coming very close. 'If you wanted flowers you could have cut as many as you liked from the green-house-so it's obvious someone bought them for you.' She paused, but Gail remained silent, her mouth
compressed. 'Who is he? Is he handsome? And is he a Scot? I prefer Englishmen myself; they're more-er-warm, if you know what I mean-' She broke off, laughing loudly at Gail's shocked expression. 'Perhaps you wouldn't know anything about comparisons there-not having been made love to by a Scot-or at least, not by your Scottish husband.'
'You're disgusting! Aren't you thoroughly ashamed of yourself?' 'Why should I be? I'm not married, whereas you, even if you are a wife in name only-'
'You don't know that, Morag, so please do not refer to it again!'
The big eyes opened very wide.
&nb
sp; 'The door, Mrs. MacNeill, has never been opened since you came.'
'You go into my room?' Gail stared at her angrily.
'I like to know what's going on,' replied Morag un-ashamedly. 'That key was lost years ago and has never been replaced. Of course, Father could come round, if he were so inclined-but he isn't.' Gail said nothing, merely looking at her with disgust, and Morag went on, continuing what she was about to say when Gail interrupted her. 'Even if you are a wife in name only you've no right to be receiving presents from some other man. Ashamed of myself? I like that! You're the one who should be ashamed of yourself-letting another man buy you flowers.' The last words were spoken in a voice deliberately raised; they were also unnecessary, their having been said, in practically the same vein, only a few moments previously.
Morag was staring beyond Gail, and Gail turned, her flesh ting-ling unaccountably. Andrew stood just a few yards away. 'I've already told you, I bought the flowers myself.' But an uncontrollable hint of colour fused her cheeks; Andrew could not help but notice and a sudden frown settled on his harsh set features. He followed Gail into the hall. 'We have flowers in the greenhouse,' he commented, watching her closely. Was he thinking about his late wife?-and wondering if history could possibly be repeating itself?
'I know, Andrew, and had I thought about it I'd have waited until I got home, but I saw these in a shop-and wanted them right away.' Her explanation sounded weak, even to her own ears and she bit her lip. 'It's called impulse buying, I think. They looked so beautiful, and I put them on the front seat, so I could see them all the time.'
She felt silly, and her flush deepened. So did her husband's frown, but his tones were quiet enough as he said,
'If you want to buy flowers, Gail, then by all means do so. However, we grow enough for our needs and the obvious thing is to use them.' Something hard was stuck in her throat. He had softened a little, seeming to have forgotten that scene which was indirectly responsible for her buying the flowers, and Gail had an almost irrepressible urge to talk to him like a real wife, to explain her unhappiness, and to let him know she had been a little scared of the future, and that the flowers had helped to restore her spirits again. But she could not, because they were strangers still, and so she murmured something about not buying flowers again, but using those which were grown for the specific purpose of house decoration.
'It was a silly whim on my part,' she went on, lifting her eyes to his, all unconscious of their brightness, or of the quivering movement of her lips. 'I can't explain, though-explain why I bought them, I mean,' she added in answer to the interrogating look he gave her. And, as she remembered Morag's saying he would not give them house room, 'Can I put them in the lounge?'
'Of course you can put them in the lounge.' His frown reappeared. 'You don't have to ask me that, Gail.'
She smiled then, and her doubts fled. She found herself humming a little tune as she went along the hall towards the little store room just off it, where she would find a vase for her flowers.
CHAPTER THREE
ROBBIE and, Shena were racing on in front; Andrew and Gail followed at a more leisurely pace. It was Sunday afternoon, and the first occasion on which Andrew had accompanied Gail when she had taken the children out for a walk.
'I'll come with you,' he had said, much to the delight of the children, and much to the surprise of Gail.
'Ooh, Daddy, that'll be fun!' exclaimed Robbie, lifting a rosy-cheeked face and bestowing a happy smile-which was also a 'thank you'-on his father. 'I like my daddy to come with us.' Shena spoke to Gail, and smiled at her. The child was still in that peculiar state of withdrawal and doubt, but gradually Gail was breaking it down. The difference in the personalities of the two children, was a source of great interest to her, for no such marked difference existed in either of her sisters' children. Robbie was spontaneous and warm, enthusiastically falling in with everything Gail planned for their amusement. He trusted her implicitly, considering everything she did to be right.
'That'll be fun!' was one of his favourite expressions, and indeed everything was fun to him. Shena on the other hand was far more retiring and cautious. She did not wholly trust Gail, and always appeared reluctant to accompany her and Robbie on their rambles down the glens or on the heathered grouse moors. It was only at bedtime that Gail felt sure of the child, sensing a warmth about her which was kept hidden during the rest of the day. Gail always read to them after seeing to their baths and supper, and at this time she knew a wonderful tranquillity and sense of fullfilment. She experienced the real pleasure of being a mother. 'Please read some more,' Robbie would beg, and his sister would add, 'Yes, please read some more.' And the real sign of victory appeared to come one evening when Shena called her back as she left the room where the child slept.
'Mummy....'
Gail turned, her heart overflowing with thankfulness.
'Yes, darling?'
'I'm not tucked in-because I moved.'
'Then I must tuck you in again, mustn't I?' Shena remained silent for a while, gazing up at her with those big blue eyes that were so like Andrew's. 'Are you my mummy?' A small hesitation and then, 'I'm not your real mummy, Shena, you know that, don't you?'
'Yes.' She paused a while. 'Daddy's told me many times that I must call you Mummy, but I didn't like to at first, but now I want to, just like Robbie.' Bending down, Gail kissed her, unable to voice words. The struggle was over, she thought ... but soon realized her mistake. Although from then on Shena found it easy to address her as Mummy, she could still become withdrawn at times, and uncooperative, and Gail knew she must continue to tread warily, to practise extreme patience and understanding if she were to succeed in her desires.
'Robbie!' Andrew's voice brought Gail back with a start from her musings. Robbie had decided to climb a tree. 'Down-at once!'
Robbie obeyed, jumping from the low branch and waiting for them to reach him. 'I wouldn't have fallen,' he asserted good-humouredly.
'Perhaps not, but you're too small to be climbing trees:
'Mummy might let me climb when you're not there.' He grinned mischievously up at Andrew, and as Gail glanced from one to the other she took in the likeness of the features. Even at this early age Robbie possessed the firm and noble lines portrayed in his father's face. He had the same dark hair and blue eyes, and although he was as yet not so mercurial in temperament as Andrew, he did possess certain characteristics which, as with Andrew, gave evidence of the old tradition of Scottish lawlessness. 'I shall do nothing of the kind,' returned Gail inexorably.
'All right,' with obliging good humour. 'I'll wait till I'm big.'
They had been strolling just above the road-a road which was very necessary where such vast tracts of moorland had to be traversed-but now Andrew turned and they were making for the beautiful little Loch Charrag, fringed with birch trees, their slender trunks gleaming in the brilliant sunshine, their branches heavy with swollen buds. Away on a rise a herd of roe deer grazed-two bucks with velvet-covered antlers reaching their full new growth, and several graceful does with their young. A pair of buzzards swooped and planed above the herd, but it was the vicious hooded crows that seemed bent on disturbing it. They called raucously and flapped their wings in flight, maliciously endeavouring to scare the cudding deer. But the deer merely looked up now and then, chewing rhythmically. It was only the weak or aged animal who had anything to fear from the hoodies, who would peck out a creature's eyes even while it was still alive.
'Hoodies, Daddy,' cried Robbie. 'Aren't you going to shoot them?'
'Without a gun?'
'You should have brought it; we don't want the hoodies.' Even as he spoke a shot rang out from far down below in the glen.
'What was that?' Gail asked the question as they all stopped.
'Meredith's gone down to destroy a nest,' said Andrew unconcernedly.
'A nest?'
'Of hooded crows. They build down there and it's a good opportunity to get rid of them. We don't allow the creatures to
propagate their race if we can possibly avoid it.'
'I wish I could see Meredith,' said Robbie excitedly. 'Will he have taken all the eggs?'
'They'd hatched, Robbie. He's killed one of the parents, I expect, so he'll be dealing with the young '
'But it's cruel-killing the babies, I mean,' gasped Gail, seeing, in her imagination, Meredith wringing their necks without the slightest compunction. 'You'd feel differently if you saw a sick and exhausted ewe with sightless holes where its eyes once had been.' He turned to her and smiled in an under-standing sort of way. 'Life is tough and hard in the Highlands, Gail, and to you we might seem cruel, but you'll soon come to realize that we never kill for killing's sake. No stalker worth his salt would allow a nest of hooded crows to survive once he had found it.'
She said nothing and they walked some distance in silence. But after a while she murmured, almost to herself, 'All this is yours-'She made a comprehensive gesture with her hand. 'I haven't explored one hundredth part of it yet.'
'You've plenty of time.' He spoke in his customary clipped accents, but today there was a certain relaxing of his harsh and cold exterior. For the first time the shield was lowered and Gail sensed the heart beating under the armour still retained.
They reached the bank of the loch; away on the left a small building stood by the water's edge and Gail asked what it was. 'A fishing lodge.'
'You fish in the loch?' and when he nodded, 'You catch salmon?'
'The salmon are in the river,' Robbie instantly informed her.
'They jump up,' put in Shena. 'You should just see them jump!'
'Are they in our-in your river?' Gail wanted to know, looking up at her husband.
'They're in our river,' he replied, turning to her and stressing the word 'our'. 'But the fishing rights for salmon belong to the Duke.'
'That's all his land-on the other side of the river?'
'The river's the boundary, yes.'
'Would he know if you took the salmon from the stream?'
